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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969378">Sempiternal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Has Powers, Slow Burn, childhood crushes, heavy emphasis on slow, no like 100 years type slow burn lol, steve/peggy still happens but it’s lowkey, they’ll be more in-depth chapter 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship never truly dies, even if one of you do. </p><p> </p><p>Or, your friendship with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes through the ages.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Past! Howard Stark/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sempiternal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You move to Brooklyn in 1929 on your thirteenth birthday. </p><p>Your mama and pa let you unwrap your presents as the movers’ place boxes in the empty house. Your pa gives you a baby blue dress. The collar is white, with matching polka dots, and two small pockets in the front. You kiss your pa, who’s not actually your pa, on the cheek and thank him excitedly. Your mama gives you a gray teddy bear that’s far too big for you, shiny, black shoes, and knee-high socks. She always spoils you on moving days, especially when you’re meeting new men, she wants you to call your father. This father, the one you’ve been referring to as Pa, is the third one you’ve had. The first two, Papa and Father, vanish one day without a trace. Mama insists they simply left you, and that you shouldn’t mention that to your new father or anyone else.</p><p>“They’ll spread rumors, beloved,” she tells you, smoothing down your pigtails as you lean on her arm.</p><p>You like this new dad just fine, though. Pa has the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen, and red hair that’s always slicked back, with freckles painting his lightly tanned cheeks. He looks expensive, but all the men your mom likes do. Mama tells you he’s her favorite. He’s a lot more affectionate than the last two. Always willing to put you on his shoulders, win you stuffed toys at carnivals. Pa let you get two bags of caramel popcorn instead of just one once; your previous fathers never let you do that.</p><p>“We’ll eat your cake later,” Pa says as you quietly gaze at your presents in your arms. “Why don’t you go play outside so your ma and I can finish unboxing everything.”</p><p>Not wanting to be stuck inside all day, you agree. Mama even lets you change into your new clothes before you go, and Pa slips you four dollars behind Mama’s back. He winks at you, dimple deepening, and gently guides you out the door.</p><p>“Thanks, Pa,” you say again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles warmly, messing up your pigtails by ruffling your hair.</p><p>Brooklyn is bigger than you thought. It smells familiar, like smoke and fresh bread. You’ve never lived in the country, and you doubt Mama has plans on starting. You live in the ‘better’ neighborhood, as Mama calls it. She doesn’t like apartments, too small, she says.</p><p>You think they’re not expensive enough for her tastes. </p><p>The city is bustling with life. Men in button ups smeared with grease smelling of cars brush by you. Women in knee-length dresses and red lips chat with one another, not shooting you a second glance.</p><p>You see other children, too. One group, made up completely of boys, kicks a beat-up ball around. On the steps near them sits a cluster of girls your age. They’re animatedly talking to each other, curly locks flying around. With one hand gripping your brand-new dress, and the other holding four dollars, you cautiously begin to approach the girls. One of them, with strawberry-blonde hair and a yellow dress, smiles at you. Her front tooth is missing, but you think she has an easy smile.</p><p>“Hi there!” she calls, waving around one arm. The other three girls look more apprehensive, eyeing you warily.</p><p>“Hi,” you greet earnestly, stopping right by the steps they’re sitting on. A pale girl with dark eyes gives you a shy wave. Her white dress hangs loosely off her body with obvious stitches in places it must’ve ripped. You wonder why she doesn’t just buy a new one, but don’t voice your thoughts aloud.</p><p>“Are you new here?” the tallest girl asks, her hair falls down her back in brown, curly masses. You’ve never seen hair as long as hers. The girl sitting next to her shares a similar face, but her locks are cropped short. They even have identical purple dresses, right down to their scuffed up black shoes and white stockings.</p><p>“I am,” you reply, smoothing out your damp hands against your dress. You’ve never been good at making friends. You should probably be used it by now, considering how much you move, but there’s something about talking to new people that makes you choke up. These girls don’t seem bad, though, even if they’re obviously a little hesitant.</p><p>“Nice to meet ya’, new girl,” the girl with strawberry-blonde hair says, her grin makes you smile. “Name’s Marjorie Jean Davis, and that there is Ethel Lee. She don’t talk much.”</p><p>Marjorie motions to the pale girl, who goes red when you look at her.</p><p>“Norma Miller,” the tall girl’s look alike says. Her smile is more forced than Marjorie’s, like she’s not used to doing it.</p><p>“Shirley Miller,” the tallest girl says,” Norma’s my twin, if you couldn’t tell.”</p><p>Her tone is condescending, cocky even, but you think she might just talk that way. Norma rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything. With a shaky smile, you give them your own name.</p><p>You fit into their group nicely. Marjorie and Shirley talk the most, and you quickly learn Norma only butts in with a sarcastic comment or two, while Ethel hardly speaks. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, though, like she prefers to not have to talk so much. Apparently, Shirley and Norma are the oldest at fourteen, while Marjorie is thirteen like you, and Ethel is eleven. Shirley is clearly the ringleader, and whatever she says, the girls usually do. Usually. The argument that breaks out between them causes your focus to shift elsewhere. As Shirley and Marjorie squabble about whose house to go to after, you glance towards the boys playing soccer. </p><p>Most of them are running around, shoving each other to get to the ball. There’s a big kid guarding one of the sides, while the scrawniest boy you’ve ever seen stands by the other goal. He’s short, with blond hair, and shoes too big for his feet. You wince when you see them kick the ball at him, hitting him right in the gut, and then rolling into the goal. The opposing team finds it funny, laughing as he scrambles to pick the ball back up. His team, who’re clearly losing, yell at the boy to do better.</p><p>It’s pitiful, you can’t help noting.</p><p>“That’s Steve Rogers.”</p><p>You flinch at Ethel’s soft voice. Her large, dark eyes, and equally black hair, against her pale skin makes her almost seem ghostly. Especially with how soft her voice is, like it’s straining as it’s used.</p><p>“Poor Steve,” she continues, a small frown forming on her lips,” they’re always so mean to him.”</p><p>You’re too distracted by Steve to notice their ball hurdling towards you. Shirley shoots out a long arm in front of you, stopping it from hitting you, but mud still splatters against your dress. Mama won’t be happy about this.</p><p>“Watch it!” Shirley yells, angrily kicking it back at them. She’s easily taller than most of the boys playing, and they duck out of the way to avoid losing their head as the ball soars above them.</p><p>“Maybe Shirley should be goalie instead of Steve,” one of the braver boys’ jokes, earning another scowl from her.</p><p>“Watch your mouth, Smith,” she snarls, standing to her full height,” or I’ll watch it for you.”</p><p>“Leave her alone,” Steve speaks up, frowning as they poke fun of Shirley and Steve. Shirley doesn’t take kindly to Steve defending her, though. She whirls towards him next, hands on either side of her hips. Steve looks even smaller compared to her.</p><p>“I don’t need a runt like you sticking up for me,” she says crossly. Norma, who’s been sitting quietly, stands up and grasps her elbow. Marjorie and Ethel both stand up after, following along as Norma drags a seething Shirley away.</p><p>“You comin’ along?” Marjorie asks, waving you towards them.</p><p>“Another time,” you reply,” I need to get home.”</p><p>You motion towards the mud on your dress, and Marjorie laughs, saying something about rich girls. Ethel gives you a bashful smile as they disappear around the corner. You can hear the boys scuffling about, the winning team cheering, while Steve’s team huddle together. At first, it seems like they’re brushing off their loss, but as you continue to watch them, you can see they’re pushing someone around. And it’s painfully clear who it is.</p><p>“You’re the reason we’re always losin’, Rogers,” one of them says loudly, shoving Steve to the floor. There’s more scuffling, more harsh comments being thrown at him, and then they leave. They’re still kicking the ball as they go, laughing and pushing each other about. Steve struggles to sit up, reaching towards his face and wiping the blood under his nose. You aren’t sure why you do it, but you walk up to him. As your shadow falls atop him, he glances up.</p><p>His eyes are a pale shade of blue, matching his light skin and hair. He goes red in the face when he realizes he’s staring, reaching into his pocket to pull a handkerchief out. You think it’s for his bloody nose, but he hands it to you, to your confusion. Taking it, and realizing how cold his hands are, you frown at him.</p><p>“What’s this for?” you ask. The handkerchief is a pale pink with roses embroidered in the corners, you see ‘Sarah’ stitched along the side.</p><p>“The mud on your dress,” Steve replies like there’s not blood dripping down his chin. You crouch in front of him, taking his chin in you hand, you gently clean him up. He’s still, not even breathing, as you finish. Folding the handkerchief up, you tuck it in to the pocket (the one without money) and stand up. You’ll ask your mom to clean it later.</p><p>He’s still sitting, watching you in a daze, like you’re some angel. You giggle at his expression.</p><p>“You’re Steve, right?” you ask, smiling down at him. While you’re usually not as keen to talk to strangers, there’s something warm about Steve; no matter how freezing his hands are.</p><p>“H-huh? Oh, yeah, that’s me,” he replies awkwardly, licking his chapped lips. His stutter earns him another giggle.</p><p>“Well Steve,” you say, holding out your hand for him to take,” do you want to get some ice-cream with me?”</p><p>He blinks up at you in surprise, before clasping his bony hands around yours. With a crooked grin, he nods.</p><p>“I’d love to.”</p><p>
  <em>rosy cheeks and turned up nose and curly hair</em>
</p><p>
  <em>i'm raving 'bout my baby now</em>
</p><p>
  <em>pretty little dimples here and dimples there</em>
</p><p>“If it’s your birthday, I should pay,” Steve insists, pushing the money you’re holding away. He’s rummaging through his pockets, trying to pull out the 25 cents owed. The man holding your ice-cream frowns, obviously annoyed with how long it’s taking. He manages to produce 10 cents before the ice-cream man snaps.</p><p>“Just let the girl pay, kid.”</p><p>With pink cheeks, he awkwardly allows you to hand the man a dollar. You excitedly take the cones from him, handing one to Steve as you’re leaving.</p><p>“You like vanilla?” you ask, giggle behind your strawberry flavored ice-cream. Steve pouts a little, taking a bite out of his.</p><p>“What’s wrong with vanilla?” he asks like he’s genuinely hurt. You giggle louder, looping your arm around his.</p><p>“Nothing, Stevie, you seem like the vanilla type,” you reply. Steve is shorter than you, but that just makes it easier to lean your cheek against his head. You feel him tense up and then relax against you.</p><p>The sun begins setting as Steve walks you home. You chat about random things, learning about each other. Steve’s an only child, although you comment he’d make a wonderful older brother, and lives with his mom. Apparently, his dad died before he was born. In return you tell him you’ve recently moved here, and that you’ve barely been able to talk to anyone. Steve immediately offers to be your friend, and you happily accept. While you like the girls, there’s something about Steve that’s different.</p><p>As he’s dropping you off, you pull him into a quick hug.</p><p>“See you tomorrow, Stevie,” you say over you shoulder.</p><p>“See ya’,” Steve replies, face red.</p><p>
  <em>don't want to live without her</em>
</p><p>
  <em>i love her goodness knows</em>
</p><p>
  <em>i wrote a song about her and here's the way it goes</em>
</p><p>You forget about the handkerchief until Mama shows it to you one day. Holding your baby blue dress in one arm, she drops the pale pink handkerchief into your lap. Tearing your gaze away from your radio, you look down.</p><p>“Sarah give you that?” she asks. Her dark, thick hair falls in perfect curls around her shoulders. Her lips are stained your favorite shade of red and quirked into a small smile.</p><p>“Her son,” you reply, turning down the music playing. Your mom’s smile widens.</p><p>“Aw, my baby girl’s growing up, already has a boyfriend,” she teases, smoothing down your pigtails.</p><p>Embarrassed, you shove her hand away. She laughs, her head throwing back and shoulders relaxing. Mama’s always been the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You see men stare at her every time you go out, like they’re enraptured by her presence. With her airy voice and graceful movements. You want to be like her. Right down to the way her hair is curled, to having red lips and pink cheeks.</p><p>“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumble, turning your music back up.</p><p>“Of course, love, of course.”</p><p>
  <em>baby face, you've got the cutest little baby face</em>
</p><p>
  <em>there's not another one could take your place, baby face</em>
</p><p>
  <em>my poor heart is jumpin', you sure have started somethin'</em>
</p><p>While you become close friends with the girls, you find out Steve doesn’t have any one but you. It makes you feel bad, so you invite him out often. You eat ice-cream together, watch him paint, let him tag along when you and your mom go shopping. Steve and you spend almost all your time together. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.</p><p>“How come he follows ya’ around like a pup?” Marjorie asks, glancing to where Steve’s standing. School is one of the only places you don’t hangout, mostly because you’re with the girls. Plus, Steve seems to desperately want to make more friends, no matter how many times you tell him it’s a bad idea, or they push him around.</p><p>“Steve’s a good friend,” you say defensively,” he does <em>not</em> follow me around like a puppy.”</p><p>“He does,” Shirley agrees, pushing her salad on to Norma’s plate. She does that every single lunch, never once trying a piece of lettuce or tomato. “It’s pitiful.”</p><p>She still doesn’t like him from when he stood up for her. Which doesn’t make sense, but Shirley’s pride clouds her judgement most of the time. You think if they give him a chance, they’ll like him. Ethel is the only one of your side.</p><p>“I think it’s nice of her to be friends with him,” she says in a small voice. “He looks happy with you.”</p><p>“Aw shucks,” Marjorie says, a teasingly smile on her chubby face. She leans over the lunch table to pinch your cheek. “Steve and [Name] sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”</p><p>“First comes love,” Shirley continues, nudging you with her elbow. You flush, brushing off their hands and covering your ears.</p><p>“Then comes marriage,” Marjorie says, laughing. Her braids bounce around at her wild gestures.</p><p>“Then comes the baby in the—”</p><p>“He’s bleeding.”</p><p>The laughter immediately stops as Norma speaks. Her voice is toneless as usual, but it makes you all pause. Following her gaze, you watch in horror as Smith’s fist meets Steve’s face for a second time. He doesn’t cry out, even as his back slams against the dirt. You stand up before Marjorie has time to grab you. One of the girls yells at you to sit down, probably Shirley, but you’re already racing towards them.</p><p>You see red as your body slams into Smith’s. He doesn’t see you coming, and though he’s bigger than you, you still manage to bring him to the floor. Your head smashes into the floor, and air leaves your lungs. You gasp in pain, something warm dripping down your neck. Smith’s up before you can catch your breath, towering over you, his face crimson with rage. You feel him grab one of your pigtails, tugging you up with it. A cry escapes your lips, and you claw at his hand, digging your fingernails into his hand.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing, girl?” he snarls, bringing his face closer to yours. “Go sit with the rest of those ninnies and mind your own business.”</p><p>“Leave her alone,” Steve yells, throwing himself at Smith. He desperately tries to get him to drop you, throwing punch after punch, but Smith doesn’t so much as flinch. “I said leave her alone, dammit!”</p><p>Smith and the rest of the boys there laugh at Steve’s attempts. Releasing your hair, Smith shoves Steve back down. You desperately reach towards Steve, ignoring the blood leaking down your neck and face. You’re scared. You’re more scared than you’ve ever been, but you don’t want to see Steve hurt. You never want to see another bruise on his little face, even if you’re hurt in the process.</p><p>“Does picking on dames make you feel good, Smith?” a new voice asks, and you see Smith press his lips together.</p><p>“This got nothin’ to do with you, Barnes,” he hisses, releasing his hold on Steve’s shirt. “Stop trying to play hero.”</p><p>“I’m not playing hero,” Barnes replies. You ignore their conversation, choosing to crawl over to Steve instead. Wiping away dirt on Steve’s cheek, you reach into your pocket to pull out his handkerchief. He smiles at weakly as you clean up his bloody nose. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by your teacher.</p><p>“Smith,” she calls, hurrying over. You see Marjorie standing next to her with wide eyes. Ethel, if possible, looks paler than you’ve ever seen her. Even Norma and Shirley look shocked. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>“He was beatin’ on Steve,” Marjorie says quickly, “look what he did to [Name]!”</p><p>Your teacher grabs Smith by the ear, pulling him along. Looking down at the dirt on your pink dress, and the blood matting your hair, you wince. Your mother is not going to like this.</p><p>
  <em>baby face, i'm up in heaven when i'm in your fond embrace</em>
</p><p>
  <em>i didn't need a shove, 'cause i just fell in love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>with your pretty baby face</em>
</p><p>Mama gasps in horror when she sees the bandages and icepack on your head.</p><p>“My poor baby,” she cries, clutching your face in her hands. “Who did this? Was it him?”</p><p>Her glare turns to Barnes, who freezes up. Although he hasn’t a single scratch on him, he’s still in trouble for getting involved. You shake your head, bringing her attention back to you.</p><p>“This bully named Smith did it,” you say,” he was beating on Stevie.”</p><p>At his name, Steve flushes. He looks far worse than you. With a bruised jaw, eye, and dry blood on his nose. It’s a surprise he’s not rolling around in pain. But, to your horror, he seems almost used to it.</p><p>“Sorry for getting your daughter involved, ma’am,” Steve says solemnly, wincing when he accidentally presses his icepack against his eye too hard. Your mother shakes her head, expression softening. She’s always told you she has a soft spot for him.</p><p>“She would’ve done it regardless, Steve,” she replies, smoothing down your messy hair. “Let’s go home, hun. Pa’s worried about you.”</p><p>Grasping your hand in hers, she leads you out of your school. Turning around, you desperately mouth ‘ice-cream’, to Steve, hoping he’ll get the message. It seems he does, because he flashes you a thumbs up, even as he winces in pain.</p><p>
  <em>when you were a baby not so long ago</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you must have been the cutest thing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>i can picture you at ev'ry baby show</em>
</p><p>It takes a lot of convincing, and promises to return before night falls, but you manage to leave the house again. Pa’s the one who does most of the convincing, because he knows Mama has a hard time saying no to him. You race down the streets of Brooklyn, shoving past crowds of women in pretty dresses, and men with grease stains. It isn’t until you see the sign that reads ‘Franny’s Ice-Cream Parlor’ in big, red font do you stop to catch your breath.</p><p>“Steve,” you call when you see him on the bench outside. Pausing when you notice Barnes sitting next to him, you approach them with a frown.</p><p>“Sorry about getting you dragged into my mess,” Steve apologizes, gazing up at you with one large, blue eye. The other is too bruised to open. It makes your stomach squeeze painfully.</p><p>“No, no, Stevie,” you console, grabbing his hand. “Smith shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”</p><p>Steve gives you a crooked smile, eyebrows drawing together. He’s like a kicked puppy, you think. And while you’re glad to see he’s doing alright; you must ask.</p><p>“Why is Barnes here?”</p><p>“It’s Bucky,” he replies, and though he’s sitting on the bench and you’re standing, he’s the same height as you. “And I can answer questions myself.”</p><p>You sneer at him, lips pressing together.</p><p>“No one invited you here, <em>Bucky</em>,” you snap back. Tugging Steve towards you and off the bench, you attempt to enter the store without him. This is your sacred time with Steve; you didn’t need a stranger to tag along. It doesn’t matter if said stranger stuck up for you a few hours earlier. </p><p>“Actually, uh, I invited him along,” Steve says awkwardly, stumbling as you practically drag him. You shot him a glare, but it soon turns into a pout instead.</p><p>“Fine, but only once,” you say, giving Bucky a sharp look. His grin is far too wide and cocky. “Ice-cream is me and Steve’s thing, not yours.”</p><p>“Whatever you say,” Bucky replies, shrugging his shoulders. With his hands in his pockets, and a stupidly smug smile on his face, he follows you into the store. At least you’ll never have to deal with him again, you think.</p><p>And though you don’t know it then, you’ve never been more wrong in your life.</p><p>
  <em>just winnin' ev'ry ribbon with your sweet baby way</em>
</p><p>
  <em>say, honest i ain't fibbin', you'd win 'em all today</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>plot will not follow infinity war/endgame, but will follow parts of the first avenger, the winter soldier, and civil war. this chapter was written seven months ago and never published on here so i touched it up a lil and posted!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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